My Confessions
By: Rai

Disclaimer: I am not the owner nor creator nor the writer of Middle-earth or The Lord of the Rings, nor am I owners of any of the movies. I am not making any money out of this and am doing this for pure personal enjoyment.
Any canonical and grammar errors are slips of my own (and will be glad to correct it if pointed out because I'm not perfect).

Chapter 2 – I Can't Hide

"I do not understand, my Lady."

Éowyn did not understand either. She turned to look at the young Rohirrim, who only stared at her with eyes filled with astonishment and awe. She sighed as she turned to face the window once more, to look out over the city below the Houses of Healing. "There is nothing to understand, Cuichelm," said Éowyn flatly as she crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to look upon the young messenger again, refusing to let him see the tears in her eyes as she grappled with a decision that startled even her.

"But to refuse to ride to the Fields of Cormallen…" started the young man.

"It is not that I refuse to ride, it is that I do not feel well enough, or strong," said Éowyn softly, although the lie tasted bitter in her mouth. She knew that she was indeed well enough to ride to Cair Andros, but only in body, not in spirit. Her spirit felt as battered and torn as the day she made battle with the Witch-King, but that was not something she would tell Cuichelm. So she instead refused to take her eyes off the scene beyond her window, refused to let him see the deceit in her eyes.

The sun was bright and beautiful today, its rays illuminating the White City so that it shone like a diamond. And Éowyn could hear the happy laughter of the people below. They were celebrating the end of the Shadow, the return of their King and the coming of a new Age.

But Éowyn felt only scorn for their joys. She envied that they could bask in the glory of a new day, while she stood still in the bitter night, trapped in an eternal darkness. The end of the Age had brought her no salvation from her sorrows. Still she stood on the edge of an abyss.

"The days may be golden and bright since the fall of Baradur," she whispered, "but there are still those who ail in this world. Not all is yet made anew, and not all is yet undone."

"But, what of your brother, Lady?" started Cuichelm slowly, and she could hear the hesitation in his voice. "He had begged that you may come and be with him in these days renewed. He wished that you can share the joys of this time."

Éowyn bit her lip. She knew her brother waited for her anxiously to come to the Fields of Cormallen, for she and her brother had parted in tears and sadness. They both had felt that Éomer would be riding to near certain death, and neither thought they would ever meet the other again in this world. But now that the terror had passed she knew he awaited their reunion so that they could smile and be together, without hurt or sadness.

But now she would inflict on him the hurt and sadness she only wished to take away in her rejection to ride out, and for what? She did not know. And to desert him for a reason she could not explain tormented her.

She did not understand why she refused to go.

Éowyn held her silence, listening as Cuichelm shifted uncomfortably, his chainmail clinking. At length, he sighed. "My Lady," he added gently, "I may be a mere warrior of no consequential ranking, but I could see in his eyes that he sorely misses you. He only wants to be near you and know that you are safe."

Éowyn's breathing quavered and she bit her lip again. She wished she could again see her brother for she too missed him. She wanted nothing more than to run to him, smiling, jumping into his arms and let him swing her around, like what he once did when they were children, when he had returned from his training. She wanted to be near the only family she had left in this world, and yet…

She also knew deep within her heart that to see him would mean she must eventually meet with the Lord Aragorn for the first time since Dunharrow.

No! She would not let her unrequited feelings for him step in the way of her family and her brother. She should be there for Éomer, for he was now King of Rohan, and even as the Lord Aragorn was preparing to become King of Gondor, so was her brother preparing to lead his people into the new Age. She would be there to aid him in the task that awaits him in Edoras…

"Tell my brother that I am sorry," she found herself saying breathlessly. She closed her eyes, her mind screaming at her folly, insisting that she should take back her words, prepare to ride. But her heart refused to listen, and even now it said that she was doing what was right, though the reasons confused her. The choice felt as bitter as her misery and she gripped the frame of the window in her own despair. "Tell him that I love him and that I wish he would forgive me."

He would forgive her in time, but to know she was causing him pain because she herself could not gather the courage or find the resolve to leave the Houses of Healing wounded her more than any injury. She wanted to pound her injured fist into the wall in her dissatisfaction of her weaknesses, and it took much self-restraint on her part for her to keep her calm, composed exterior.

Cuichelm sighed. "This is not the tidings I had wished to give Éomer King," he said, and his expression became full of sorrow as he stared at the fair Lady of Rohan. So sad she seemed, so silent and sombre, like wilting flower amongst a garden of roses in full bloom. And in this dark room surrounded by cold stone walls, with only a window to look out into the world, he could not help but realize her feelings of oppression.

"I will not try to persuade you," he added softly. "To force you would go against my honour, and would only sadden my Lord even more."

Éowyn averted her eyes downward, for she felt great guilt in laying this burden on the young messenger. In a time of joy and victory, sad news was not the news one would like to give to their lord and liege. Still she could change her mind, to ride from Gondor and the Houses of Healing…

"I am sorry," said Éowyn softly, "but I am not ready."

Cuichelm blinked. "Ready for what, my Lady?" he asked uncertainly.

Cuichelm's eyes widened as Éowyn turn to look at him solemnly. He was stunned to see tears, her grey eyes overflowing with a sadness that ran deep. Her eyes were a mixture of confusion, contempt and were simply a tidal wave of raw emotions. In all his young years, never had he seen such a look, and it was one that he would remember for all his life, and in which he would measure one's sadness in years to come. For a moment, he thought she was going to collapse in tears, burdened by her grief, but she did not.

Instead she answered: "I am not ready for tomorrow."

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There were only questions in her mind. That she could not answer them troubled her deeply.

She anxiously paced her small quarters once Cuichelm had taken his leave. She knew that he would speak with the Warden about her refusal. And soon it will be common gossip amongst the Healers, though the Healers held enough pity in their eyes when they looked upon her. "Poor wild horse girl," they probably thought when they looked upon her pale, thin figure, "such a tragic little thing she is; a broken jewel among an untamed people of the North."

Anger boiled within her as she recalled the ways they spoke to her, as if she were a fragile newborn. How Éowyn despised those looks they gave her, treating her like an abused stallion with which they would walk carefully around, but only look upon it with sad eyes. They understood nothing of her pains or sorrows. They know not what they pitied, only that she should be.

And she knew not which was the more shameful.

She turned, and her eyes fell on the door that led beyond her room, beyond her solitude and personal torment. But at the same time, it only revealed her to the eyes of those who would only look upon her in despair, shaking their heads as they turned away, whispering her name in voices they thought she would not hear. But her heart was restless, desiring to be released from her cage, and her soul longed for a companionship that did not exist. Nonetheless, she steeled her heart and opened the door, why she did not know, and to where she could not say.

She did not have to walk far before she encountered her first group of Healers. They had been laughing and talking gaily, until they sighted her, and their happiness faded to an uncomfortable silence as they moved aside to let her pass, bowing their heads respectfully to her. But Éowyn did not acknowledge their bows nor did she dare look them in the eyes, for she was certain they'd only have doubt and disappointment in their expressions, shaking their heads as they clucked their tongues lightly. As if they understood what tormented her.

Even she did not know.

Her steps quickened as she followed where her feet led her, for they knew better where she wished to go. So many thoughts tumbled through her mind as she passed group after group. Some bowed politely to her, but most contented in merely staring openly at her as she quickened her stride, her eyes trained forward, shutting out what she did not wish to see.

She was at the gardens. She stopped as she realized where it was her feet led her. Her breathing was quick as she stared at the doors wordlessly, unsure as to why she was there. At first she thought of turning around and returning to her room, away from the bright and penetrating stares of others. But something compelled her, and she gently nudged open the doors to the outside, closing it quietly behind her as she was greeted by the bright and glorious afternoon in Minas Tirith.

She blinked, unused to its brightness, so long had she remained indoors since that last day that Faramir had taken her to the walls to watch the new era dawn on them. She looked to the walls, as if recalling the memory, but she was quick to turn away, for not since that day had Faramir paid her any heed.

She shook her head, chastising herself over the assumption that she was worth Faramir's attention to begin with. Why should he pay any heed to her, a wild horse girl from the North that she was, cold and ruthless as the mountain snow? He was the Steward of Gondor, a man of great heritage and honour. Surely he had better things to do now than to trade words with her. Surely there were better people, ones with more respect, more lineage and greatness than her; people that were worthy of his attention and time.

Great men had no use for nursemaids.

But as she thought of such things to herself, a great sadness seemed to come over her as she began to walk the gardens slowly. And it seemed as if only she in the garden and the entire city wilted under the light that was the new dawn, in a way that the spring itself seemed to make a mockery of her own loneliness. Her eyes oft strayed to look upon the White Citadel, but she would always look away again. Around and around she walked, like a ghost lost in the world of the living, until at last she halted to look up again at the wall where she and Faramir last spoke.

Time stood still as she looked to it, and her eyes began to fill with unshed tears. But as quickly as they came she banished them, and filled with cold rejection, she decided that she should return to her room. She was doing herself little good wandering here as if she were a spirit rejected. There was no one here, after all.

There was no one in the gardens. She was alone.

Again she had to walk the busy halls of the Houses of Healing. Again she had to endure the pitiful stares, the head-shaking and the sighs. It seemed as though the world was bright with festivities, but such joys dimmed in her presence as if she were depriving them of their happiness. As if she was a blight in which they could not openly scorn, only pity.

The door closed behind her as she found herself in her cage once again, with only her window to show her a falling sun as the day slowly melted away into the night. But it was not what lay beyond the window that held her gaze.

Éowyn's hand strayed upward as she began stroking the warm, deep blue velvet of the long, beautiful cloak that lay draped over the small chair at the foot of her bed. Her fingers gently traced itself over the beautiful silver threading, so carefully sewn and beautifully crafted.

A sad smile formed on her lips as she remembered how Faramir had wrapped it around her shoulders, his gentle expression never leaving his face as he told her of his mother and how it had been hers. Even on so dark a day, Éowyn could see the joy in his eyes at seeing it be worn by another, and a love unbound for a mother he knew so little of. In this they were one and the same, for she too knew only a little of her own mother. And she also understood the honour in which she had been bestowed in being given the one thing that he remembered of his mother.

It was almost like he actually cared for her…

Nothing made sense to Éowyn anymore. It did not make sense to her. How could one who showed such tenderness towards her be able to toss her aside so easily? Was she truly so expendable? Why did this bother her so, this thought that he cared nothing for her at all? She was not certain if she wanted an answer, however. So many questions filled her head now after so long of nothing moving her or changing her, where there was only stillness and quiet. Now it felt as if everything about her was moving and changing, and she could not maintain control of it. Did she want to maintain control of it? She was not certain of that either, but as she stood there, looking upon the fine raiment that Faramir had graciously bestowed her with, she could feel now that her heart was turning, and she knew not where it would take her.

But she was still alone; left behind in darkness with no one to hold to.

Alone, she felt as if she was toppling dangerously on the edge of the cliff, but the person she thought to have once stood there to catch her was in fact merely a dream.

There was no one, only her.

Tears welled in her eyes, and this time she did not try to stop her emotions from overcoming her. And they fell freely from her eyes as she let go, and collapsed to her knees in despair as she released her torment into tears and sobs. But thought they eased her stress, they did not give her answers, nor gave her peace of mind.

She did not understand…

TBC